


42

by blakefancier



Category: Drake's Venture (1980)
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:30:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have sex then eat pie. Oh, and chili cheese fries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	42

The first time he met Francis Drake was in Ireland and he knew he had met his destiny. Years later, when he placed his head on the chopping block, he had no regrets.

That, too, was destiny.

*****

The second first time he met Francis was in a bar just off the 99 somewhere between LA and the Middle-Of-Fucking-Nowhere.

Their eyes met across the room and Tom felt his breath hitch in his throat.

This wasn't destiny. This was a big fucking cosmic joke. But when Francis gave him a searing look and headed off to the bathroom, Tom counted to twenty and followed. As soon as he was inside, Francis shoved him up against the wall, mouth bruising mouth, hands pulling at clothes and sliding over sweaty skin, catching at body hair.

Anyone could have walked in on them but Tom didn't care. He ground his crotch against Francis's, feeling hard cock through jeans, sucking at the tongue shoved in his mouth until Francis pushed away.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was hoping for a fuck." Tom raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Francis rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Well, that or some mutual cock sucking. No? What about a hand job? I'm good either way."

"You know what the hell I mean!"

"No," Tom replied coolly, "I don't know what you mean. What do you mean, *Sir* Francis?"

"Frank. It's Frank now." He reply was distracted; he kept staring at Tom like he was a ghost. "Look, I... We should talk. There's a diner up the street--"

"I don't want to talk, and neither do you." Tom walked up to Frank and put his hand on his crotch. "Let's go to the motel next door instead. Come on, we should have done this four hundred years ago."

"Thomas, there are things I need to say. You should know--"

"No! Goddamn it, no! I didn't spend all those months being humiliated just so you can sit across from me in some diner, feed me apple pie and tell me how sorry you are that you beheaded me!"

Frank's face turned bright red and if history was any indication he was about ready to explode. But just as he opened his mouth, someone walked into the bathroom. They pulled away from each other quickly and stared in opposite directions. By the time the stranger finished his business, Frank seemed to have calmed down. He looked almost sheepish.

"You know, Thomas, I would have sprung for ala mode."

Tom couldn't help himself, he burst into laughter. "You're a bastard, Frank."

"Aye, that I am, Thomas" He smiled and touched Tom's face. "Motel, huh?"

"Motel."

"All right." Frank straightened his clothes, shoved his hands into his pockets and walked out of the bathroom.

*****

The motel room was shitty-- faded, threadbare sheets, water stained ceiling, and a carpet that was rubbed shiny in places-- but he'd been in worse places. Hell, he'd been to fucking Patagonia when Puerto San Julian was just a beach with a few skeletons.

Frank pinned him to the wall with another kiss, a hand down his pants, stroking his cock until he moaned into his mouth and jerked his hips.

"I'll going to fuck you so hard, you won't be able to sit down for a week," Frank hissed.

It was the sort of thing Tom had heard before and normally it made him roll his eyes, but this was different. The words went straight to his cock and cried out softly: it was the opening salvo in the battle for conquest. Not that there would be much of a fight, he was already waving the white flag.

Frank pulled his hands out of Tom's pants and shoved him onto the bed. He sprawled out as enticingly as he could.

"You look like a whore." Frank stared down at him.

He licked his lips and smiled. Then he undid his pants and pulled them down around his knees, giving Frank a good look at his stiff cock. "Yeah, and you love it. I'm your whore, Frank. You can do whatever you want with me."

Frank laughed. "Oh, Thomas, you were never mine. That's what pissed me off so much. Turn over."

Tom hesitated for a moment, then did it, turning his head away to stare at the far wall. He heard Frank undo his belt buckle, heard the leather slither against fabric, then gasped as he felt it against his skin. He spread his legs as far as his jeans would let him and lifted his ass. "Do it. Do it!"

"Do what, Thomas?" Frank's voice is smooth like glass, like ice, like surface of a pond on a calm day.

He clenched the sheets, his body trembling, his cock pressed insistently against the mattress. "Use the belt, Francis. I… I disobeyed your orders and I must be chastised."

He heard the belt before he felt it. Leather whistling in air, then the sound of it hitting his flesh, accompanied by the unbearable pain and heat. He cried out, pressing his mouth against the pillow to muffle it. The second blow, brought tears to his eyes, the third made him writhe in agony, his cock, still stiff, leaking arousal, rubbed against the sheets.

A few more blows and he was sobbing openly and humping the mattress while Francis called him a slut and a whore and a knave. His ass felt swollen, hot, and it throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

"No more! Francis, I beg you, no more!"

The blows stopped, but he continued to sob, continued to rub off on the mattress. Frank grabbed him by the hips and shoved into him. Tom gasped; the pain in his ass nothing compared to being penetrated by what felt like a two by four.

Frank didn't give him a moment to get used to it, just fucked him hard and fast, the sound of their bodies slapping against one another filling the room.

He was a masochist, then and now, that was the only explanation for it. The pain didn't lessen, but it became bearable… no, no that was a lie. It became pleasurable. He pushed back to meet Frank's thrusts, clenching around his cock, moaning as wave after wave of lust and intense pleasure drowned him.

Then drenched in sweat and semen, beaten and fucked, he came.

It was a few minutes before he could speak, and by that time, Frank had undressed him and tucked him in.

"So," he said, his voice raw, "Ala mode."

Frank chuckled and stroked his hair. "Yes, ala mode."

"I could use some pie."

"Does this mean you've forgiven me for beheading you?"

Tom lifted his head. "That's going to take more than just pie ala mode. I want chili-cheese fries, too."

Frank grinned and kissed his forehead. "I can do that."


End file.
